


Tangential Affairs

by StarlightSkies



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Banter, Dirty Talk, F/M, Multi, PWP, Pegging, Semi-Public Sex, Trans!Garak, Wall Sex, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlightSkies/pseuds/StarlightSkies
Summary: Sometimes, it’s as simple as wanting. They each have something the other needs, and both Jadzia and Garak are more than willing to fulfill their respective ends of the bargain.Written for the Deep Space Niners Winter 2021 Kinkswap.
Relationships: Jadzia Dax/Elim Garak
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13
Collections: Deep Space Niners Kinkswap Winter 2021





	Tangential Affairs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gwenynnefydd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenynnefydd/gifts).



> Prompt: “the DS9 writers were SLEEPING on these two together!  
> I would love to have risque, semi-public or public sex, with Jadzia pegging Garak. Flirtatious banter, dirty talk, alien genitals - I want it all!  
> Trans!Garak, please.”
> 
> I’d never imagined writing these two in this particular situation before, but I had SO MUCH FUN with this prompt, and I’m ever so glad I got to fill it. Enjoy! <3

Jadzia could say later that she’d no idea how they’d gotten there, but that would be a blatant lie. And lying, after all, was not her specialty — it was Garak’s.

 _Garak._

Hardly anyone would believe that he man pinned against the wall in front of her was the same Garak. The same man who tucked his napkin into his pristinely pressed neckline before sitting down to a meal, who couldn’t tolerate even a hair out of place in his immaculate appearance.

He’s a picture now, and a _much_ prettier one. Or so Jadzia thinks.

Chest heaving, arms braced taut and trembling behind him, he’s helpless to do little more than submit to her — and he always submits. They both know that.

"I know you like it when I fuck you," she breathes, lips grazing Garak's aural ridge. She can feel him shiver beneath her words, and her smirk widens. "I know nothing else satisfies you, too. Not your hands. Not your toys - though I'd give you full marks for trying," Jadzia murmurs.

Her hand trails slowly down the front of his tunic, done open now, leaving Garak half-bare and wanting in the dim corridor they find themselves sequestered in. His usual control has seeped away, a bare shadow of its usual self, not unlike the faint glow from the Promenade that somehow still reaches them here. Every inhalation, every minute gasp and hushed moan as she slips a hand between his trembling legs is beautiful torture, an amalgamation of sensual sound that stirs at the heat coiling in her groin.

Jadzia wants more. That's how this arrangement began, after all: wanting. They each had something the other desired: Garak his delightful silver tongue — _though more leaden now,_ she thinks — and she a wealth of experience unshared by any other. 

"I do hate to be rude," Garak says, and Jadzia grins at the strain evident in his snippy tone, "but I would suggest we hurry. That is, unless you're intent upon one of Chief O'Brien's lackeys stumbling across us here."

"Relax, Garak. Beta shift is at lunch," she replies easily, hand beginning to rub slow circles against the dampening fabric of his trousers. Beneath it, she knows, he's more than ready, slit wet and aching to take her in. But they both know, too, that this is a far longer game than that.

“And between the two of us, you— you’re the exhibitionist, my dear. _Oh,_ ” Garak groans, and she presses harder, a brief moment of relieving friction before she releases him entirely.

Garak growls a warning, but both of them know he’s already too far gone to pose any serious threat in this situation. He can’t overpower her if he tries. Not that the prospect doesn’t hold some appeal, Jadzia sometimes admits to herself, usually when she’s bare and alone and her hand isn’t enough. Cardassian culture, rich with variety as it was, surely contained some yet undiscovered novelties.

“Hmm. I don’t think you’ve ever once complained about it, either,” Jadzia remarks, hands sliding down Garak’s torso over the intricate lacework pattern of scales, ridges, and scars. He’d be stunning, if this were a sentimental affair. She admires the story his body tells, sees the truths about him which lie starkly against the lies. He has a history as layered and complex as the personas he wears, and it makes the magnetism about him all the more attractive.

Though the sex doesn’t hurt, either, she considers, kneeling before him. Garak’s breath hitches when he realizes what’s coming (him besides, she hopes, within a fairly short interval), and Jadzia grins as she reaches for the hidden fastenings of his trousers.

“In fact,” she says, “I think I’m about to find that you like it more than you’re letting on. The publicity. The thrill of being discovered...it excites you.” She can smell his arousal from here, the heady musk unmistakable in the sterile station air.

“I’m sure you think you’re quite clever, my dear,” Garak says, and Jadzia smiles serenely at the barb, which is rendered perhaps less sharp than he’d intended by his own breathless arousal.

“If I do, it's because I am,” she says, and nudges his legs apart further. His thighs are slick with sweat, and the ridges lining his slit are swollen and tender as she runs careful fingers along them. A hiss of breath above her is all the encouragement she needs, and Jadzia leans forward to suck gently at the very top, right where the seam begins to split. It’s discourteous and teasing, but if either of them was interested in manners, they wouldn’t be here to begin with.

One hand, trembling, clenches in her hair, and Jadzia can’t help the quiet, lustful noise that leaves her, painful-pleasure sensation sending a shock straight to her groin. She inhales shakily, and before she can lose focus licks a long stripe from base to tip. It’s plainly not enough judging by the tightening fist, and she delves in further, feeling the walls clench, resistant as she works her way inside.

Garak bites back the moans which threaten to escape, but for all his stringent, desperate control, he is helpless in his pleasure. She improvises where she can’t reach, fingers stroking along his slit, slipping in place to fuck him further when she finds what she’d been searching for. A slide of the tongue, a quick nip, teeth worrying at the sensitive spot tucked just inside and Garak swears loudly. Jadzia can’t help but smirk against him, and her other hand clenches against his thigh, nails raking against rapidly warming skin.

She has other plans, too, but there is a unique pleasure in knowing that she has reduced him to this state merely with her mouth and hands alone. He’s not nearly so incomprehensible as people believe him to be. Not in this way; in this, Garak is like anyone else, Jadzia thinks, as he comes to the strokes of her tongue laving at his slit with a sharp, guttural cry. It’s stifled quickly, and she glances up to find Garak panting, staring down at her with a lust so brutal in its intensity it nearly steals her breath away. It’s a remarkable sight on his ordinarily inscrutable countenance, and she doesn’t even try to resist the surge of lust that responds within her.

He wants more, and so does she.

Luckily, she’d come prepared — though it was little to do with luck. She’d known he’d be ready, despite any protests to the contrary. It’s been weeks, after all, she thinks, standing so that she can unzip her jumpsuit. Garak eyes her, uncertain, until she’s bare from the waist below, dildo finally bared for him to see. It’s the one he likes, slim and inconspicuous enough to fit under her uniform, but handy where it matters.

“I won’t bother asking how you managed _that,_ ” Garak remarks, but his interest has clearly been piqued.

“Hmm.” It’s all the reply she’s willing to give him, though admittedly, concealing it hadn’t been the easiest task in the world. “I assume you’ll be wanting a demonstration instead.”

“How well you seem to know me.” His arrogance would be convincing, if not for the flush of arousal that still shadows his ridges and feathers the edges of his clipped tone.

“I think you’ve more than earned one,” Jadzia says, drawing close so that she can grasp his hips with one hand, the other guiding the dildo against him. He’s more than ready, she knows; the record had been three orgasms, though she was still eager to test the limits of that particular theory.

With little ceremony, she slips inside him, and Garak’s moan is erotically obvious amid the quiet, ambient hum of the station.

“That’s it,” Jadzia breathes. A thrust. “ _God,_ you’re so tight. So wet.” Another thrust.

“A- and you can feel that, can you?” Garak’s incredulity is tempered by the way he slackens against her, pleasure evident on his face.

She exhales slowly, concentrating on evening out her breath. “I don’t need to, Garak. I can tell. You’ve wanted me to fuck you since we last did this. It’s all you’ve thought about.”

“Commander, though I am hardly one to dispute the merits of _good_ conversation,” he says, “in this case, I suggest you dispense with your presumptions and finish what you’ve started.” It’s a clever evasion, but she’s not deterred. He’s as turned on as she is, ridges seeming to darken even further with each successive motion of her hips.

Jadzia leans forward, and he meets her gaze as defiantly as a man so given over to his pleasure possibly can.

“Have it your way.”

She meets him in a particularly deep thrust, and he cries out, but claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound with a fist. It’s all he can do, evidently, to keep from alerting the whole station when she does as asked, fucking him hard against the cold steel of the station wall.

"You were so composed a minute ago. What happened?" Jadzia purrs, but it's becoming difficult to remain impassive. Each thrust sends a shock of white-hot pleasure through her, pressure between her legs building even as she redoubles her efforts to ignore it. Instead, she grips Garak's thigh harder where it snakes around her and delights in the moan that follows. She's practically holding him up by this point, braced against the bulkhead as he is, her hand at his leg the only thing keeping him from toppling over.

"Let us say that I — _ngh._ It seems I've finally met my match," Garak manages, and he doesn't seem to care when his head connects with the wall behind him. Jadzia knows better than to be concerned; he likes a healthy dose of pain with his pleasure. Instead, she savors the sight of him: ridges flushed a deep, enticing gray, one hand trailing idly over the curve of his chest spoon, eyes closed and head tipped back in hedonistic abandon. It's a picture, to be sure. And one that no one else has been privy to in recent memory. Not even Julian, for all his hapless flirting and misguided, obvious attraction.

“You certainly have. And you won’t forget it.” Jadzia knows her confidence is attractive to him, and frequently reminds him of it. Garak had the advantage over most, but seven lifetimes have taught her a thing or two about men like him. “You want me to fuck you harder,” she continues, and it’s a statement, not a question. That was one thing: Garak liked submission. It was almost antithetical to his otherwise dominant personality, but perhaps the years of keeping a tight rein on his exacting self-control had taken a toll on him.

Or perhaps he just liked the feel of her inside him as he surely does now, clenched tight and dripping where they’re joined. She slides a hand between them to rub at Garak’s slit, redoubling her thrusts; the heat has begun to build between her legs, and she can feel it coiling, pulsing, as she snaps her hips harder against him. 

“Come for me,” Jadzia demands, and leans forward into the intimate space between them to bite at the exposed ridges of his neck, just hard enough.

“Yes, _yes,_ ” Garak groans softly, a shuddery breath escaping his parted lips. He looks ready to say more, but whatever it is doesn’t materialize, cut off by a gasp as he comes, slicking her hand as she strokes him through his release.

Jadzia allows him a moment to recover; she’s still aware that they could be discovered, but seeing as she’s supporting most of his weight, she supposes allowing him to fall unceremoniously to the floor wouldn’t make for a courteous post-coital gesture.

Garak eventually finds his legs again — in both the literal and metaphorical sense — and clears his throat as he tries to put some sense of order back into his disheveled clothing.

“Enjoyed yourself, I’m assuming?” she asks, with a coy look toward the dampness at his trousers which he’ll certainly have to rectify before returning to work for the day.

He arches a brow ridge. “I would have thought that the answer was obvious — or do you require me to extol the virtues of your _delightful_ company each and every time we meet?”

“Not quite, though gestures of gratitude usually earn more points with me.” Jadzia casts a meaningful look downward to where she’s still hot and aching with need. It’s got a bit of a transactional flair to it, this relationship. It’s not merely the exchange of pleasure, but that’s half of it, and she knows Garak’s unfailingly Cardassian principles are well-aligned with fulfilling his end of the bargain.

“Allow me,” he says smoothly, and they both know it’s a meager, last-ditch effort at regaining some control over the situation. 

And Jadzia lets him. She lets Garak slide a hand between her thighs, working at her entrance. It doesn’t take more than a few quick passes before she’s poised on the brink, and she comes with a soft gasp when he slips one finger in, coaxing delicately where he knows she’s most sensitive. 

It’s several long minutes before Jadzia is aware of anything but the pounding of her heart in her ears. Garak, looking disdainful, has chosen to discreetly wipe his hand against the lining of his tunic, which is still only half-done.

“I do wish you’d give me proper warning next time,” he says, frowning, though she’s sure there's a brief smile behind the exasperation.

“But where’s the fun in that?” Jadzia laughs, straightening her jumpsuit and tucking herself away before doing the zip.

“Hmm. Commander, I believe you and I have very different definitions of the word.” Garak, attempting to look as dignified as possible for a man who was being thoroughly fucked not five minutes prior, pats his hair back into place. 

“There’s a relief.” Jadzia tilts her head, and for the barest of fleeting moments, she catches a glimpse of fleeting humor deep within the blue of his irises. “I can see I still have a few things to teach you.”


End file.
